


Tapuach O'Dvash

by shaniacbergara



Series: Coffee, Wine, and Textbooks-Verse [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Jewish Good Omens (Good Omens), M/M, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-27 20:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: You thought I was done?? I'm never done!!!





	1. Odd Ones Out

Crowley was odd. That much had always been true. He was an oddball since birth. His mother had to take away his books, toss him outside onto the soft grass. Once he was out there, though, he could keep himself entertained for hours and hours, building and tearing down and rebuilding imaginary worlds all for himself. It often led to his mother having to drag him back inside, with grass stained knees and leaves in his hair, or a flower crown of dandelions stuck on his head. He was weird all through school, too enthusiastic about history, too Jewish, too gay. He’d had friends, of course, but mostly he just did his own thing. University was better, the Hillel on campus allowed him a safe place, and he thrived, making friends, finding a boyfriend or two. His weirdness became more and more celebrated as he got older. Now, as the month of Elul raced to a close, he found himself the odd one out once again. 

14 stressed bubbies and zeydahs in Torah study turned on him as he admitted out loud, foolishly, that he wasn’t particularly stressed about the approaching high holidays. Mrs. Snyder whacked him on the arm.

“Ouch!” He said, though it hadn;t really hurt. Even Rabbi Dov looked at him incredulously. “What?!”

“You’re not stressed about the high holidays?” The rabbi repeated, eyebrows nearly reaching his short brown hair. “Crowley...you’re stressed about everything.” Crowley just shrugged, a long motion that made him look even more relaxed.  
“I’m never stressed about anything, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He insisted, and got an actual laugh-track level of chuckles throughout the room at this response.  
“Hey!” They’d teased him about it throughout the remainder of Torah study, Crowley laughing good naturedly throughout the whole ordeal. He stayed a bit to talk with the Rabbi about his Torah portion, he’d been meaning to check in about it for the last several days.

“How are you feeling, everything squared away?” The rabbi asked, reaching up to grasp Crowley’s shoulder. He grinned down at him, eyes wide behind his horn-rimmed spectacles.

“Oh yes, Rabbi, much the same as it was the last year.” He grinned at him. 

“You have your guest ticket?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at Crowley. Crowley looked away. “Crowley!” 

“Look, just because I like these holidays, doesn’t mean a goy will. We’ve just moved in together, we haven’t really celebrated anything other than Shabbat together, not for real, anyway. And besides, standing in shul for 10 hours isn’t most people’s definition of a fun Monday off.” Crowley ranted, and sure, Aziraphale loved Shabbat, and loved coming with him to services for Kabbalat Shabbat, but Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be less enthusiastic about a New Years celebration that involved praying for multiple hours in a row. Crowley loved it, but he was aware that this holiday seemed more like a chore than anything else to most people. 

“Well, have you asked him?” Rabbi Dov asked, and Crowley fixed him with what he hoped was an intimidatingly withering stare. The rabbi seemed unimpressed. “I’d ask him before you go making assumptions. Think of poor Esther.” He said, gesturing to Mrs. Snyder. “Where will she be with no one to ogle during Rosh Hashanah services? Come to think of it-” He poked Crowley on his thin chest. “Where will you be without anyone to ogle?!” 

“Honestly, rabbi, I don’t ogle.” Crowley said, aghast, but the rabbi just rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’ll ask him. Don’t be surprised when he says no, though.”

That evening, Crowley and Aziraphale made love slowly. This happened from time to time, when Aziraphale was feeling particularly affectionate, he’d move slowly, the love oozing from his movements like he couldn’t contain it anymore. Crowley would beg, sometimes, would plead, but that evening he held fast, desperate to hold on to Aziraphale in any way he could. They parted, never completely, a hand on Crowley’s hip, Crowley’s knee between Aziraphale’s, a hand in Aziraphale’s dandelion fine hair. How odd, Crowley mused, he had always loved to feel the soft velvet of dandelions when he’d been a young boy. 

Aziraphale sighed contentedly, and yawned. He got up, puttered around his bed to where he’d left his pajamas, folded nicely. He stepped into the fleecy blue pants, buttoned up the sleep shirt. Crowley lounged in bed, watching him. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale getting dressed was just as beautiful as Aziraphale undressing. Everything he did was gorgeous. 

Aziraphale collapsed down next to him again, book in hand this time. Crowley used the opportunity to get closer to him, wiggling in underneath one of Aziraphale’s arms, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He could hear Azirpahale’s heart from here. 

“You’re very affectionate today, my love.” Aziraphale noted. Crowley blushed, and Aziraphale could feel his heat even over his sleep shirt. 

“I’m always very affectionate.” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale hummed again, a deep noise that echoed around his chest. Crowley closed his eyes, how could he be stressed about these high holidays? He’d reflected, of course, and had come to the conclusion that he must have done something truly excellent in the Almighty’s eyes if he’d ended up here, curled against Aziraphale. He’d still pray to be sealed in the book of life, of course, and he’d do his reflecting, attempt his teshuvah, and all the while, try to show his gratitude in any way he could. 

“Anthony?” Aziraphale interrupted his train of thought, he hadn’t even noticed that Aziraphale had put his book down. 

“Mmm?” He hummed, tilting his head up to look at Aziraphale. The light from his bedside table cast a halo of light around his head. 

“I was wondering when I ought to go and procure a ticket for the high holidays.” It was half statement, half question, tilting up at the end, searching for more information.  
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and kissed the lines that were forming between his brows. Crowley relaxed immediately. 

“You-you want to come to the high holidays?” He asked, and Aziraphale scoffed at him.

“Of course I do. I’ve never heard you read Torah, and I certainly want to see that. Besides, I’d miss you.” He says it so simply.

“It’s boring, angel, you’ll be bored.” Crowley informed him, and it was Aziraphale’s turn to look disgruntled, then. 

“I’d really like to come.” Aziraphale told him. Crowley closed his eyes, resting his head back down. “I’d like to be with you.” Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley on the top of his head, right on his hairline. “Always, Anthony.” He whispered it, and a full body shiver went over Crowley. “Is that all right with you?” 

“So dramatic, angel.” Crowley deadpanned, he should have known that wouldn’t do.

“Is that all right with you?” Aziraphale asked again, insistent this time.

“Always, right, always.: Crowely repeated, shivering again. “I’ll pick up your tickets tomorrow, angel.” He promised him, and Aziraphale, satisfied for the time being, picked up his book once again. It had been easy, in the end. After all, how could he say no to his angel?

The morning of the first day of Rosh Hashanah came all too quickly. The university was closed, so they were free to have the holiday without worrying about cancelling class. Crowley took care dressing that morning. He put on a well fitted black suit, a white shirt, and a tie. He kept his funny socks, grey, with pictures of an orange furry little sports mascot on them, but hid them beneath polished dress shoes. Aziraphale, who had spent the previous evening fretting endlessly before his open closet doors, holding up outfit choices for Crowley to comment on, wore a light grey suit, tartan collar and all, and his preferred tartan bow tie. He straightened it in the mirror as Crowley brushed his teeth, and they switched, Crowley making the bed as Aziraphale finished his morning ablutions. 

Finally, when it was time to go, Aziraphale fetched his keys. Crowley put his kippah on, and handed Aziraphale his, and they set out. Aziraphale drove, Crowley with his arm out of the window as always. When they reached the shul, William wasn’t alone at the front door. There was a whole host of security guards throughout the parking lot and the entrance of the shul. Aziraphale pulled into a spot way at the back corner of the lot. He’d never seen the parking lot so packed. They got out of the tiny sedan, and Aziraphale looked at them as they passed a guard.

“Does it make you sad, that there’s, all this?” He asked, and Crowley nearly melted. He reached out to him, grasping his hand and bringing the back of his hand to his lips. 

“It’s always been like this.” He said, simply, then leaned down to kiss Aziraphale, just because he was frowning, and that just wouldn’t do. Aziraphale held his tie as they parted. 

“We ought to get inside, stop snogging in the parking lot.” Aziraphale remarked, and Crowley rolled his eyes, dragging him along behind him.


	2. V'Zot HaTorah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale go to shul.   
I'm really really emotional about the high holidays if you couldn't tell. Come and talk to me over at isoundmybarbaricyawp on tumblr, or, if you prefer a jewish spin on things (idk why you're reading this fic if you don't) come talk to me at shalomyall on tumblr.

Crowley wraps himself in his tallis, he covers his head with it, his face heating as he imagines Aziraphale watching him. When he’s done he kisses the corners before emerging, hiking it up over his shoulders so that the tzit tzit do not drag on the ground. He looks at Aziraphale, who opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again.

“What is it, angel?” He asks, and Aziraphale smiles at him. 

“How do you know I have a question?” He demands, aiming for indignant but landing squarely at fond instead. Crowley smiles and takes his hand as they stand at the doors of the sanctuary. 

“You have a terrible poker face, angel.” He confesses. Aziraphale grins.

“I just saw a couple people doing that differently, is all.” He gestured at the tallis on Crowley’s shoulders.

“Ah, yeah, that.” He said, rubbing the back of his head. “See, the blessing for this says to ‘wrap yourself’ so my grandfather always literally wrapped himself up in the tallit while he said it. He taught me and the habit stuck.” He whispers it, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand and rubbing his thumb along the inside of their palms as he spoke.

“I like that.” Aziraphale told him,and Crowley grinned widely. 

They were fashionably late, which was exactly when Crowley had planned on arriving. Birchot HaShachar had finished, and they snuck into their seats just before the Barchu. Aziraphale watched as Crowley bowed low during the response, watching in admiration as the rabbi bowed still lower up on the bimah. Aziraphale hooked a pinkie into Crowley’s belt loop, the better to keep him close. He loved seeing Crowley everywhere, but there was something very special about Crowley at shul. 

He followed Crowley throughout the Amidah, which, after attending several Shabbat services, he knew better than to interrupt. He followed Crowley’s choreography instead, and marvelled at how literal, how visceral some of this prayer was. He remembered the constant kneeling and standing and kneeling again of Easter holidays in his youth, so robotic. But when Crowley davened? He looked like he was moving with purpose, with intention, more confident in his movements here than he ever was outside. 

When they reached the Unataneh Tokef, Aziraphale got the chills. Crowley reached down, to where his hand rested on the back of the seat in front of him, and covered Aziraphale’s hand with his own. Crowley breaks his own rule, and leans down to whisper to Aziraphale.

“My grandfather always used to say that this prayer could scare people into the shul, but just as easily scare people out of it.” Aziraphale smiled at him, a little unsure. “I don’t find it all that terrifying, though.” He admitted, and continued to pour over his siddur. 

They continue through the service, and when the ark is opened Aziraphale is nearly overcome with awe. 

“They’re all dressed in white.” He whispers to Crowley, and Crowley leans down to kiss him on the crown of his head, damn the onlookers. 

“It’s a special occasion, angel.” Crowley touches his tzit tzit to the Torah when it comes around, and kisses them. Aziraphale looks at the rabbi as he approaches, his eyes wide, and the rabbi smiles at him so warmly it’s like he’s telling him with his eyes how pleased he is Aziraphale was there. Crowley held out his tzit tzit to Aziraphale, who looked at him, the question already in his eyes. Crowley cuts it off by brushing the tzit tzit against his lips. 

Crowley has to leave, then, he creeps his way out of the row and around to the front of the room. Aziraphale watches him the whole time, tracking his progress as he shakes hands with several people. He catches him winking at Mrs. Snyder from across the room. He watches as he rocks on his well polished shoes, risking up and then rolling himself back down on the balls of his feet. He’s nervous, Aziraphale can tell. It’s the same way he moves when he has a meeting with the administration, or when he’s waiting for a paper to be peer reviewed. Finally, finally, Crowley’s eyes drift back to Aziraphale’s row, he catches sight of him and gives him an encouraging grin. Crowley winks back, still trying for bravado, he misses, but Aziraphale loves to watch him try. 

He’s called up, and he climbs the bimah easily, taking the stairs two at a time. Rabbi Dov rolls his eyes at Crowley’s antics in a way that implies he has been expecting such a level of impertinence. The blessings are said, and Crowley begins.

“Amen. Veadonai phakad et Sarah…” he chants it, and Aziraphale cannot believe his ears. He looks up at him, on the bimah, and the lights above him seem to shine particularly brightly on his copper hair. Aziraphale has heard Crowley daven, he’s heard Crowley bless, but this is entirely different. Hundreds of people are listening to Crowley as he chants these words, and Aziraphale can hardly explain it. It’s as if Crowley has just been waiting all year to read the words, as if anything else he has said in the meantime was just filler. Aziraphale is gripping the seat in front of him, eyes wide. He chances a glance at Rabbi Dov, who, Crowley had told him, is meant to be reading over his shoulder to ensure that Crowley doesn’t make a mistake. He’s not even looking at Crowley, instead, Rabbi Dov is looking at him. The rabbi raises his eyebrows, and Aziraphale exhales minutely. The moment seems to last a lifetime, thought Aziraphale knows better, he’d never be able to keep his eyes off Crowley for so long. 

The congregation joins in on the last few words of the portion, and Aziraphale physically shivers. He watches as Crowley listens to the second blessing, and he’s the first to shake the old fellow who read the blessings’ hand. He shakes the rabbi’s hand, and the rabbi pulls him in to whisper in his ear. Crowley grins, chuckles a bit, even. He shakes the cantor’s hand, who offers him a smile that nearly makes Aziraphale burst into laughter, he looks like such an absolute muppet. 

Crowley swaggers off the bimah, taking the long way back around to their seats, in order to kiss Mrs. Snyder. He’s stopped along the way, shaking hands with countless men, stooping down to kiss little old ladies on the cheek. 

When he finally reaches Aziraphale, Aziraphale stands up on tip toe and kisses Crowley soundly, if chastely, on the mouth. Crowley grinned at him before sitting back down. Aziraphale’s hand found Crowley’s angular knee, and he relaxes almost completely into the touch, as if that was what he’d been waiting for the entire time. 

“What did the rabbi say to you?” Aziraphale asks as the next aliyah begins. Crowley plays with the fingers splayed across his knee. 

“He said you looked like you were about to pass out.” Crowley informs him, and Aziraphale hides his laughter in the sleeve of Crowley’s suit.


	3. Kol Nidre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen...can you tell I love Kol Nidre? Come talk to me over at isoundmybarbaricyawp on tumblr, you have all been so utterly sweet about this verse and these interpretations of the characters and I'm honestly so honored so thank you so so much!!!

Crowley went through the next few days with a remarkable level of tenderness. It seemed to permeate off of him, like an aura, like a cloud of cologne. They spent Shabbat that week together, as always, and the love Aziraphale felt for Crowley as they dedicated another double mitzvah together was nearly overwhelming. Crowley had been uncharacteristically quiet, during this particular bout of lovemaking, and Aziraphale pushed a stray piece of Crowley’s hair out of his face.

“Dear…” He began, but cut himself off. He took a deep breath, then started again. “Is everything alright?” He took one of Crowley’s hands in his own, his other hand still raking through Crowley’s hair. Crowley’s eyes had fluttered shut as Aziraphale played with his hair, but they shot open at the question. Aziraphale’s thumb rubbed between Crowley’s eyebrows, soothingly.

“Zira I want to apologize.” He confessed, and it was Aziraphale’s turn to look surprised. His beautiful cupid’s bow lips twitched in a frown. 

“What on earth for?” He asked, propping himself up on his many pillows, the better to look at Crowley.

“For running from you, when you wanted to be with me.” He said, and his voice shook almost imperceptibly. Aziraphale, however, now considered himself rather an expert on all things Crowley, and noticed immediately. “I was afraid-”

“Anthony, I-” Aziraphale attempted to cut him off, he’d heard something like this from Crowley before. Crowley held squeezed their joined hands to stop him.

“Please, let me finish.” Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. “I was afraid that you weren’t being genuine, and I didn’t trust you.” Crowley took a deep breath. “It was wrong of me not to trust you, having known you for years. It’s something I struggle with.” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, he’d never heard Crowley speak so candidly about something like this. “I promise I’ll try to be more trusting in the future. I’d really appreciate it if you’d accept my apology.” Silence fell in their bedroom as Crowley finished his speech. A piece of Rabbi Dov’s sermon floated through Aziraphale’s mind. True, he’d been more focused on Crowley, but he had paid a little attention.

“Teshuva.” He whispered, and Crowley, eyes snapping up to meet Aziraphale’s, nodded. 

“Please, Aziraphale.” Crowley requested. Aziraphale shook his head, refocusing.

“Of course, my love. Anything.” He directed Crowley’s head to his chest, continuing to stroke his hair as he felt his lover relax.

“Thank you.” Crowley breathed, melting thoroughly.

“If you’d permit me to-I’d like to apologize to you, as well.” Aziraphale confesses, and Crowley tenses up minutely. Aziraphale trailed a hand down his spine, a move he knew made the poor boy melt. He shivered. 

“You don’t have to do Teshuvah, angel.” He reminded him, a whispered confession.

“I know that, but I’m here with you.” He whispered it into Crowley’s hair. Crowley remained silent, and Aziraphale took that as permission to proceed. “I owe you an apology. For not noticing your feelings for so long. You’ve given me so much, and I wasn’t able to, wasn’t ready to accept or acknowledge it.” He keeps his hand running up and down Crowley’s bare spine. “I want to apologize, you deserved more recognition from me. I will strive to be more observant in the future.” Crowley’s next breath hitches, a half whine.   
He rolled over, hiking his leg over Aziraphale, straddling him. 

“Anything you give me, I’ll take.” The confession is so raw, it took Aziraphale by surprise. His surprise soon melted into pleasure, however, as Crowley took it upon himself to kiss up Aziraphale’s broad, steady shoulders. He ran his hands up Aziraphale’s torso, revelling in the opportunity to touch and touch and touch. 

He rode him slowly that night, Aziraphale’s eyes burning into his own. The tension breaks once they’ve finished, as they shower together in Aziraphale’s over-large tub. Crowley spikes up his hair into a ridiculous mohawk, and blows bubbles with the suds on his hands. They laughed, then, all tension eased as they collapsed into bed, thoroughly exhausted. 

The evening of Kol Nidre finds the lovers walking, hand in hand, into the synagogue. The lights had been dimmed in the sanctuary, and the light of the candles on the bimah cast a flickering half-light around the room. The fast had already started, Crowley and Aziraphale having eaten a hearty spaghetti dinner mere minutes before. Mrs. Snyder found the pair as they headed to their seats, cutting them off and insisting she join them.

“You’re not fasting, surely, Mrs. Snyder?” Crowley wondered aloud, taking her hand in both of his. 

“No, no, I’ve finally given in on that front.” Mrs. Snyder says, a little testily. “Don’t think I like it, though.” She scowled, but her face softened as Crowley kissed her hand. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back the question.

“Is that permitted? Opting out?” He asked, hoping to pitch his voice so low that Mrs. Snyder wouldn’t hear him. He had no such luck. 

“Of course it is!” She insisted, just as Crowley was opening his own mouth to answer. Crowley’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight behind his spectacles as he let Mrs. Snyder take the reigns. “It is a halachic imperative to LIVE according to mitzvot, and you know what you have to do in order to do that?”

“...live?” Aziraphale hesitated. 

“Live!” Mrs. Snyder finished, proudly. “We’re supposed to be focused on our repentance, and it’s not easy to get distracted when you’re at shul all day, who cares if I have to break for lunch?” She defended herself quite unnecessarily but quite staunchly. Crowley grinned.

“Quite right.” He agreed, and Aziraphale nodded. They turned their attention to the bimah as Rabbi Dov, clad in his white robe with the Cantor matching beside him, spread his arms in welcome.

“Friends, we invite you to please come and find your seats as we are about to begin.” The chatter that had persisted in the sanctuary died down almost at once. Aziraphale thought of Crowley, how he had that level of authority with his students, always with a smile. He thought of his own authority, and grinned. The congregants sat down, and Crowley leaned onto the arm rest between his seat and Aziraphale’s, pressing his whole side up against Aziraphale’s. Crowley breathed him in, revelling in that old-paper-coffee-sandalwood smell that was so typically Aziraphale. Crowley’s shirt sleeves were rolled up, and just a hint of the serpent tattoo poked out from under the cuff. Aziraphale traced it with his free hand as the rabbi called out the page number. They opened their machzorim and began. 

The singing started, and Aziraphale felt as though he’d been transported to another time entirely. The deep notes and slow tune made him feel as if he were floating above the congregation. Were it not for the press of Crowley’s arm against his, and the vibrations of Crowley’s own voice, so recognizable amongst the others, Aziraphale might have been completely untethered. 

They stood together as the Torah was revealed. Tiny little Rabbi Dov took the large scrolls out of the ark, and the Cantor began his chanting. At Crowley’s synagogue, Kol Nidre sounded a little different each time it was chanted, the three different variations on the ancient words served as a reminder to see things with a different perspective. It hit Aziraphale like a ton of bricks, as he began to get the feel for the recitation, the Cantor would alter it just enough to unsteady him again. He looked up at Crowley to see him mouthing along with the words, his eyes on the Machzor, glancing up occasionally to look, eyes filled with awe, at Rabbi Dov and the Torah. 

Rabbi Dov spoke, after, on the importance of telling truths, the vitality of community, and the importance of self-love. He reminded the congregants of the quote they would read the following morning, about loving thy neighbor as thyself, and stressed with absolute conviction that loving yourself well was a vital, often overlooked aspect of the portion. Aziraphale found himself pressing back into Crowley’s arm, peering around to look at Mrs. Snyder. She had poked Crowley’s knee when the rabbi had said that, and Crowley had shook his head good naturedly at her. 

They concluded, and left without an oneg, strolling back to their car among the throng of fellow congregants, a few shouting a hello or waving at the pair of them as they went back to Aziraphale’s car. Crowley, familiar with how very long Kol Nidre could seem, caught Aziraphale by the lapels of his coat before he could open the driver’s side door.   
“What did you think?” He asked, rocking on his heels, chewing on his lip a bit. Aziraphale was silent for a moment, considering his question. He rocked up on his own heels, kissing him chastely, before descending again. 

“I love you.” He replied, and Crowley, knowing full well that this wasn’t a direct answer to his question, whole heartedly understood exactly what Aziraphale meant. He smiled at him, kissing him once before courteously opening the door for him.


	4. Neilah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else just like...always feeling emotional???? Come and talk to me over at isoundmybarbaricyawp on tumblr!!!  
Also I used Yom Kippur as an excuse to dress Crowley like the Doctor...

If Crowley had felt apprehensive before taking Aziraphale to Rosh Hashanah services, it was nothing to how he felt the morning of Yom Kippur. Crowley wasn’t one to do things by halves, as his track record with every aspect of his life made clear. When he arrived at shul on a Yom Kippur morning, he stayed all the way through to Neilah. He’d warned Aziraphale about this, of course, but he felt he hadn’t really been heard all too well.

“It’s a long day, Aziraphale.” He’d reminded him after Kol Nidre had concluded. 

“You’ve said.” Aziraphale replied, turning a page in his book.

“A very long day.” He clarified, nudging Aziraphale’s foot with his own.

“Mmmm.” He hummed. “You’re not too much, Anthony.” Crowley, who had already opened his mouth to repeat himself again, promptly shut it. 

“I didn’t say-” He began, but Aziraphale had clearly had enough beating around the bush. He didn’t break eye contact with the Thomas Hardy in his hands as he replied.

“I know what you’re doing.” Aziraphale told him, firmly. “You’re hedging and you’re worried that if I see you there that I’ll think you’re too much and I won’t want you anymore.” Crowley tensed next to him. Aziraphale, as always, was right, thought Crowley hadn’t realized he had been doing that. He remembered his apology from Shabbat Shuvah. He gulped.

“Aziraphale, I’m-” Finally, Aziraphale looked at him.

“Trust me, my love. Please.” Trust issues were something Crowley never even considered he might have, but after years of waiting, it seemed only natural at times that everything might collapse around him. 

“I’m worried.” He confessed, his eyes wide and honest without his glasses. His hair had grown shaggy, he’d refused to get a haircut during the high holiday period, and it had a tendency to flop into his eyes these days. 

“Tell me.” Aziraphale instructed.

“I love you, angel, and I’m worried that...that if I muck things up…” Aziraphale’s eyes hardened, and Crowley edited quickly. “I mean...if things get mucked up, I won’t just lose you in this way.” His voice had begun at a normal volume, but had slowly quieted to a whisper as he spoke. His gaze fell to his hands, clasped together on his lap.

“Look at me.” Aziraphale requested. Crowley had to take a deep breath before complying, but when he did so, he found Aziraphale’s eyes so full of love and brightness that he found himself melting with it. Aziraphale held his gaze for a moment before speaking. “I am not going anywhere.” Crowley tried to nod, but Aziraphale caught his chin between his fingers. “Anthony Crowley. I’m with you for the long haul.” Crowley’s eyes went wide. “You understand?”

“Yes.” Crowley whispered, his head still caught. 

“Tell me, please.” 

“I trust you, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him firmly. Crowley relaxed, relief etched in every line of his thin form.

“I trust you, Anthony.” Aziraphale told him when they broke apart. He went back to his book. Crowley pretended to read himself. The silence stretched for a few minutes before Aziraphale broke it. “Besides,” he said, casually turning another page, “you’re ridiculously sexy when you’re at shul.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed, thoroughly scandalized. Though, if he had to admit it, just the slightest bit pleased as well. 

The next morning, Aziraphale woke Crowley with kisses rather than coffee, an exchange that, while pleasant, Crowley didn’t actually prefer. As was his custom, however, he did respond to his wake up call with “I love you, angel.” But this reply was more grumbled than anything else. 

Crowley broke with tradition, opting for a blue suit rather than his preferred black ensembles. When Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. 

“It’s not really a day for black.” He said, and left it at that, lacing up his absurd maroon converse. 

Aziraphale followed his implication, dressing in a tweed suit himself. Crowley loved how he looked in it, he’d told him before.

“Makes you look like a sexy professor.” Crowley said, looking up from where he’d been brushing his teeth. Aziraphale crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek.

“I am a sexy professor.” He pointed out, watching Crowley’s cheeks go pink. 

The morning service was crowded, as it always was on the morning of Yom Kippur. Crowley wedged himself between Aziraphale and the older gentleman who insisted on calling Aziraphale “Ezra.” Aziraphale suspected this was by design, as it seemed to amuse Crowley to no end. They arrived even earlier than they had for Rosh Hashanah, early enough to go through Birkot HaShachar. 

When they got to Vidui, Aziraphale watched Crowley as he placed his fist on his heart. He mimicked the gesture, and let Crowley repeat the words for him as he tapped his chest when Crowley did. Crowley looked so solemn, and he poured through the words on the English side of the Machzor to understand what they were chanting. It was a list of wrong doings, half of which he was sure Crowley hadn’t committed in the year. When they’d finished, he asked him. 

“My love I’m fairly sure you haven’t done any violence this year.” He whispered. Crowley looked at him, hearing the question in his voice. 

“I’m not just praying for me.” He told him, and Aziraphale understood. The thought gave him chills. 

“I see.” He said, and Crowley looked at him, trying to puzzle out his reaction. Aziraphale just looked peaceful. 

After Musaf, which contained possibly the longest Amidah Aziraphale had ever witnessed, many people filed out of the sanctuary. The rabbi beckoned everyone left to come forward, and they lounged throughout the front few rows. Aziraphale checked his program, as if he hadn’t memorized it a week ago. Crowley liked to stay all day because between the morning and afternoon services the rabbi liked to hold a discussion group, and Crowley was loathe to miss a discussion. 

“I have a former student who, two years ago, told me she didn’t think anti-semitism was going to be a problem in modern America. This year someone spray painted a symbol of hate on her mailbox.” He began, and Aziraphale sat up a little straighter, reaching out and grasping Crowley’s hand. 

They spoke for two hours, eventually leading into a discussion about how to fight anti-semitism, sharing experiences. Crowley remained silent, but listened intently to those around him. When the rabbi broke, Aziraphale checked his watch. It was already 3:30 in the afternoon. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d skipped both breakfast and lunch, but here he was. It was like, since everyone in the room was experiencing the same thing at the same time, it let him not notice his own discomfort. Crowley kissed his temple as the rabbi called for a break, Aziraphale stretched backwards in his chair as the rabbi approached them.

“Gmar chatimah tovah, rabbi.” Crowley greeted, and the rabbi grinned at the pair of them.

“Aziraphale, I’m happy to see you here.” He said, raising an eyebrow in Crowley’s direction.

“I’m happy to be here.” He said, very truthfully. He was fairly sure that if he was anywhere else, he wouldn’t be nearly as unbothered by missing lunch. 

“How’s your fast, Dr. Crowley?” The rabbi asked, gently. “A headache, again?” Aziraphale’s neck cracked as he whipped around to look at Crowley, but he was smiling.

“Not so bad, this year, actually.”

“This man drinks coffee like a fish drinks water.” The rabbi directed the wry observation towards Aziraphale, shaking his head.

“Oh, believe me, I know.” He grinned, and the rabbi gestured as if to say ‘of course!’

“How are you faring, rabbi?” Crowley asked, grinning at him. The rabbi just smiled. “He refuses to comment on his own fast. I think he might be part robot.” He stage whispered conspiratorially to Aziraphale.

“Honestly, AJ, give me some credit.” The rabbi replied, tossing a wink Aziraphale’s direction. “I’m full robot.” The rabbi moved on, speaking to the people in the row behind them. Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, already giddy with delight.

“AJ!” He exclaimed.

“Don’t you start!” Crowley said, but he was blushing and smiling. Aziraphale’s face slid from glee to concern.

“Do you really get headaches, my love?” He asked, brushing a thumb across Crowley’s forehead.

“‘Snot so bad, suppose my caffeine dependency isn’t ideal.” He admits, shifting a bit. Aziraphale makes a new year’s resolution right then to sneak some decaf or some tea into Crowley’s routine. 

The afternoon service and Yizkor seem to be over in the blink of an eye. Aziraphale finds he likes Yizkor, the mournful attitude he’d anticipated turns out to be one of remembrance instead, the feeling blankets the shul and he feels warm all over with it. The rabbi gets a little choked up when he speaks about those being remembered, and when Aziraphale looks at Crowley he sees that his eyes are shiny too.

“Always makes me think of my zeydah.” He confessed in a whisper, and Aziraphale squeezes his hand even tighter. 

Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s anticipation grow as Neilah begins, it radiates off of him, a kind of nervous, excited energy. It feels, to Aziraphale, like waiting in line for some thrill ride, like getting a good scare from a movie. Like a giddy kind of joy and relief and excitement. He inhaled deeply as the spices were passed around, and he thought that cinnamon and clove must be the smell of something holy, indeed. 

He watched with bated breath as the rabbi raised the braided candle, and a hush fell over the shul as he dunked it into the wine. The hiss of the extinguishing flame sent chills up Aziraphale’s spine. He looked at Crowley, who was grinning excitedly. A thought took root in Aziraphale, right then and there, one that had been growing and that he’d been nurturing without even realizing it.

I am going to marry that man. 

It didn’t take him by surprise, quite the contrary, upon the recognition of the thought, he grinned as widely as he possibly could. 

He kept the thought running like a mantra as they break their fast with chocolate bars in the lobby of the shul, and keeps it thrumming in his pulse as they eat their bagels and lox in their kitchen. Aziraphale can’t stop smiling, but with the way Crowley is moaning into his bagel, he’s sure he doesn’t notice. He kisses him thoroughly after, ignoring Crowley’s protestations of onion-breath, thrilled with his epiphany, and ready to begin the new year with that singular thought in mind.


End file.
